


The Gentleman

by divineshewolf



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ballet, Choking, Explicit Language, F/M, Manipulative Relationship, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divineshewolf/pseuds/divineshewolf
Summary: You are a ballet dancer, auditioning for the lead role in Sleeping Beauty, but the director, Ransom Drysdale, just isn't impressed enough...not yet anyway.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 116





	The Gentleman

It was the first day of auditions and unfortunately, you were the last dancer scheduled to perform. It had your anxieties vibrant with unsettling fear as you fixed the tight, neat bun of hair that sat on top of your head, nervously patting the sides of your baby pink tutu in the mirrors on the wall. Standing in wait was the hardest part, allowing you to criticize every aspect of your body in your ballet uniform and place distracting doubt in your mind about your ability to get this part you have practiced for.

Day-in and day-out, this routine was all that occupied your time. You slept, ate, and breathed this dance, and yet still, as you adjusted your naked breasts in your thin, white tank top, the insecure thoughts that you might not be good enough for the part flooded you.

That is when the door to the studio violently flew open and a young man strutted in – slick, straight brown hair, a white sweater and brown suede overcoat, flower-printed burgundy scarf around his neck and classic Ray-Bans on his face. He had a black notebook in one hand and a pen in the other, exhaling deeply as he made his way to the black plastic chair in the back of the room.

His almost hidden expression already appears disappointed and it turned your stomach, your heart beating faster by the second as you watched him in the mirrors. Mr. Drysdale was the most famous and creative artistic director in all of New York, the last thing you would ever wish to do is fail in front of him. A boisterous slam startles you as he throws his notepad to the hardwood floor, tearing his shades off and revealing his bold blue eyes that roam up and down your figure.

“Alright,” his silky, deep voice echoes, callous and sharp. “Impress me, miss (y/l/n).”

He picks up the tiny remote beside his feet and pressed a button that resumed the classical track for the audition scene. You grab hold the top of the barre, gathering your full weight on the tip of your toes and begin your routine. Leaning his forearms on his knees, hands folded together, watching you intensely, you try your best not to become distracted – though it is a touch difficult dancing before someone as handsome as him.

The slow and detailed dance comes to an end, leaving you panting hard in a split on the ground before you stand to your feet. Beads of sweat gathered between the swell of your breasts as your chest rises and deflates with each breath, and you smile to yourself, proud that you did not make a critical mistake.

But he has not moved. His derisive silence increases the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, every inch of your body prickles with goosebumps as he sits back in the chair, with one hand to his mouth, as if he were contemplating.

His piercing pupils behind his thick curtain eyelashes spotlight a trail – down your neck, under the cup of your breasts, scaling down your abdomen to the hem of your skirt, and then it pauses, glued salaciously at the spot between your thighs before his mouth forms a lopsided grin.

Suddenly, he jumps to his feet and walks toward you, standing so close that you repeatedly inhale his sweet, woody cologne, your doe eyes taking in his towering, confident stance as he looked down at your petite form.

“How do you think you did?”

The question threw you off, your lips parted to reply but instead, all you did was stutter and flit your eyes around the room, avoiding his gaze. “Uh…I, err- uhm….” You mumble, your fingers nervously fidgeting behind your back.

Without hesitation, he snatches your by the jaw, drawing your eyes to meet his, your vision becoming blurry as tears welled up in your eyes, but it was not from sadness – it was the way his fingers pierced into your jaw, in turn with the fear you felt as he stared into your soul. Never have you felt so minuscule, so caught under pressure, and the heat from his broad body sweltered yours entirely. Why were you letting him treat you like this?

“This display of lacking confidence will not make you excel as a ballerina. Now tell me, what did you think of your performance?” He let go of your face, his pretty pink lips pursed over his strong, clenched jaw as he waited for your answer.

“Well…um, Mr. Drysdale—”

“Call me Ransom,” he interrupts. “Everyone does.”

“Okay...um, Ransom, I think…I did fairly well. My pliés were clean, and my routine was without mistakes. I was essentially—”

“Perfect. Yes, you were.” Another interruption, and in a way, it pissed you off, but you remained calm, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, especially when the next word was… “But your timidity is appalling. You were scared when I walked in, therefore, you were scared during your performance…and my Sleeping Beauty can’t be scared.”

The words were a knife to the gut. He was clearly rejecting you and the disappointment and shame started to clog your throat, but you worked hard to hold back tears. Dance completely consumed your life and to be here for this audition was a once-in-a-lifetime chance…and you blew it.

“I understand…” Your voice was soft, almost fragile as if it would break any minute and you lowered your head. As much as his flagrant staring in time made you feel a tad violated, you did not want to be rude by leaving before he gave you a definite answer, it would be childish.

Ransom narrows his eyes, pushing his elegant coat back as he placed his large hands on his hips, posing like a man who held all the power, like a god who held your fate.

“Do you now?” Ransom sighs, a tap to his bottom lip that seems pretentious, pretending to mull over his decision and dangle it in your face, until he smiles genuinely. There is a warmth simmering in his chest. Blood rushing to every inch of his limbs. The numerous fluorescent white lights allowing him to focus on the outline of your nipples through your white shirt.

He curls his finger under your chin, tilting your head up to see the light red flush of sadness in your delicate cheeks, and he leans into your face, tangling you in his mysterious and unpredictable atmosphere.

“Do you _really_ want the part, (y/n)?”

You nod sincerely, “Yes…more anything in this world.”

It is slightly embarrassing to be pleading, but if there was any way to change his mind, you would do it. He slowly bows into your ear, his hot breath ghosting your earlobe, sending chills down your spine.

 _“Then bend over the barre…”_ He whispers, catching your muddled glare in the corner of his eyes before immediately taking a step back and shedding his expensive scarf and coat, tossing them to the floor nonchalantly.

“Wait—” you begin, your chest tightening as confusion furls through you, “what?”

Ransom rolls his sleeves to the middle of his forearms, “If you want to be my lead, I need to get you relaxed and examine you. So, bend over.”

Those final words – stern and arrogant – leaves you puzzled. Is this what it was going to take? His ego knows your willing to do anything to get what you want, but your heart sinks as your turn to face the barre, gripping the top and curving over it. Your ass, in your clean white tights, exposed in the air with your tutu resting at your waist.

Large hands come to rest on your hips possessively, and he plants himself behind you, gradually rutting his muscular hips against you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the thick bulge in his pants dipping between your cheeks, and your head shoots up to look at him in the mirror’s reflection.

Ransom grabs the top of your ass and squeezes, hungrily groaning from his throat that vibrates into your gut, biting into his lower lip before glaring up to meet your wide eyes in the mirror. His smug grin on his sculpted cheeks burns hot with excitement, his eyes shrill with lust, and your body squirms along the bar digging into your ribs.

He sinks to his knees with a heavy thud, pinching the sowing line of your thin tights and rips a gigantic hole in them effortlessly, driving a sharp gasp from your lips. You feel the cool air blowing over your folds and the heat from his pretty mouth rushes to your skull, and you have become pathetically wet. If you expected anything to come from this audition, this was not it.

Ransom’s bruising clutch returns to your ass, licking his lips, and a firm smack to your naked skin arrives from it, sending electricity down the back of your thighs.

“Fuck…you are incredibly beautiful.” His growled praise comes with a searing, wet stripe up your slit from his tongue. “And delicious too.”

He wastes no time to latch his mouth your dripping flesh, humming in approval and sucking your clit. Your eyes roll back, a choked mewl pouring from your mouth and your knuckles turning pale as you grip the bar beneath tighter. He is a far cry from shy, focusing his warm tongue on your bundle of nerves, swirling like an expert, and entirely demoralizing you with his mouth.

It forces a strangled moan from your lips, your legs shaking immensely as you take a hard gulp. It feels too good to be real, but when you view the mirror, its Ransom Drysdale with his face between your legs. Those thick fingers replace his mouth and begin to rub his saliva and your juices over your entrance before he pushes his index finger inside.

You gasp as he pumps his digit in and out of you, adding a second finger for the ride. The cold metal from his rings pushing up against your clit.

“Oh, fuck…”

The pads of his fingers thrust against your walls, pressing deep, and hitting your g-spot repeatedly, releasing desperate whimpers, that you were attempting to hold back, as the coil in your belly curled unreasonably tight.

“What did I tell you? Relax.” He orders, “If you’re going to cum for me, I want to hear you scream. Scream my name, baby, don’t be afraid.” His canines bite into your cheek, earning him a restrained groan with bared teeth and splitting you on his fingers more rapidly, letting your wetness drip down the inside of your thighs.

You are babbling incoherently because you cannot think straight, and Ransom chuckles darkly, knowing you are losing this battle. You do not want it to be over, but you are oozing with the raw need to cum on his hand, your muscles clenching around his fingers. The tender and slippery sensations are breaking you apart.

Your belly quivers from the pressure, working hard not to collapse. Your half-lidded reflection only proved that. All at once, the coil in your stomach snaps and you scream out with your eyes closed, hearing trickling liquid puddle on the wood.

“R—Ransom!”

If there is anyone near the room, they heard you. Everyone in the building probably heard you orgasm on this man’s fingers and curse his name. It is humiliating, it is…unexpectantly thrilling.

“Holy shit!” He exclaims, pulling his hand from your pulsing insides. “You filthy, little ballerina. Squirting on my hand like that…guess you’re not as shy as I thought.”

Still blissed-out, you stand up straight, his lewd words playing in your head and when he stands, staring but barely seeing his face, you watch him lick his long fingers clean of your slick, exhaling hard out of your mouth. Tingles running through your core, from your fingertips to your toes, every single vein in your body on fire from the intoxicating explosion.

He spins you around and captures your mouth with a demanding and sloppy kiss, moving his lips lithely and passionately. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the sweet yet tangy flavor making you whimper and moan into him.

“You’ve surprised me. You may get that part after all, beautiful.” He teases, a flirty smirk playing on his lips that you just had the extraordinary pleasure of tasting until the smile fell into a firm line. The wealthy, aggressive pretty boy was back in action, a storm brewing over the ocean of his pupils, and you gulp hard.

“Now, I’m going to fill that cunt with something else. Turn around.”

It is sick of you to get turned on by how verbally forceful he is, there is something disgusting in how you turn without a second thought, how your sexual appetite betrays you willingly. You sigh and mentally blame your inner goddess who is on an orgasm high.

 _Damn her_.

God, he is so unforgivingly large, especially compared to you, and easily encircles like a dark cloud as he stands behind you, pressing himself to your backside while the two of you stare at each other in the mirror,

“I want this off.” Another hissed command as he pinches the hem of your tank top, yanking it over your head and discards it to the ground, not taking his eyes off your perky breasts spilling out the fabric.

“And I want this leg,” he smacks the back of your right thigh hard, “up there.” Ransom points to the bottom bar and your right leg stretches out, resting your foot on the ledge.

You eagerly watch him unbutton his trousers and tug his clothing below the waist to his ankles and kick them completely off. When you see his length rising from under the cable-knit sweater, bobbing against his gut, your jaw drops while a dazed rush overwhelms your brain.

The tip was bright red and swollen, glistening with pre-cum, and the rest – so pink and unbelievably thick – makes you whimper. Tucking the hem of his sweater under his arm, he rolls his hips against your ass, the weight of his cock pressed between your warm bodies. A hand comes around and paws your bare breast roughly, licking a salty bead of sweat down your neck. A yelp leaks out with his teeth nibbling into your shoulder.

“Better fuck my cock really good if you want that part, little ballerina.” Ransom spat coldly, raising his hand from your chest to your throat and clutching your airways like a vice, enclosing nearly all the way around.

The head of his cock brushed up against your entrance when he grips it tight, and he shoves himself in slowly, listening to you wail as he bottoms out. He starts out with slow deep thrusts, letting you become accustomed to your walls stretching out around his massive erection until you are whining and gasping for more. Setting a pace where he is pounding you into you so goddamn good, stabbing that deep spot inside you, and leaking your juices down his shaft.

 _“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”_ Your panting cries and the reflection of bouncing breasts in tune with his every lecherous and vile thrust. The look on your face shines with masochistic satisfaction, whining pitifully as Ransom pumps into punishingly.

His hand squeezes your neck, the ruts in his rings cutting in your skin as he digs his other hand into the curves of your hip so hard, you know there will be bruises casing your entire body tomorrow.

Your eyes flurry open when he moans into your ear, his hot breath hitting your jaw as the foul noises you make bring out the carnal animal inside him.

“Mmm, that’s such a good girl. You take my cock so well, baby. Fuck!” He cursed against your skin. Your tight walls flutter around him, milking feverish groans from his lips and causing his hips to buck into you faster. “God, your pussy loves my cock. Ready to cum all over it, aren’t you?”

The sheepish nod came in reply, but it was not clear if it was you or the splitting thrusts of his cock shaking your entire body. Your knuckles turning white as your grip on the barre tightens, your pussy swallowing him whole as the fire pools low in your abdomen just as quickly as the first time. 

This was the best sex you ever had in your life – filthy and cruel as you have never had before.

And for a second time, the tense coil snaps inside you with your body seizing up and convulsing around Ransom’s length as you writhed beneath him. Your eyes roll back with your repressed, pleased howls, goosebumps, and sheen sweat covering your skin, and if it were not for him holding you up, your limp form would be sprawled onto the floor.

You slump backward like a wounded animal and tip your head back onto his shoulder. He pauses, chuckling warmly at your exhausted expression and releases your hip to pinch your cheeks together, tipping your head up mockingly.

“Oh, look at you, little girl. Are you enjoying yourself?” He drawls, glaring at your flushed face in the mirror’s reflection and making you nod, your eyes can barely stay open to see, but you imagine that you must look like you have been fucked senseless. Because you have.

“Now where should I cum?” Fingers crawl down your cheeks and rub over your lips, mushing one inside your mouth, and you welcome the intrusion and drunkenly suck on the brackish skin. Playing with the spit on your tongue, he hums lowly and slips his cock from your wet heat. “This pretty face would look so good painted with my cum.”

He lets go of you, backing away and stroking his fat cock in his fist as your leg drops off the barre, “Get on your knees.”

A wasted-like turn and you collapse, placing a chaste kiss to the tip of his cock and bravely sticking out your tongue.

“Once shy, now so bold. I think I have finally found my lead,” He coos, grunting as he glides his free fingers over your taste buds. A harsh roar tears from his chest when hot cum coats your nose and tongue, dripping down your chin as he catches his breath, smirking at your cum splotched appearance…

“God, you’re perfect.”


End file.
